


Alone

by theskyeskye



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is drinking to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> just a little fic, stachez ish, a half finished thought, one that i might get back to later, i’ve been wanting to write something for this for a while now and i’ve just not had the energy so here it is. unbeta’d and kind of free form. listening to lost song by olafur arnalds when i got the idea. let me know what you think or enjoy or whatever…

Rick’s fingers curl a little tighter against the metal that had slowly warmed under his palm over time. How long had he been clutching it there, cocked at an odd angle against the table, arms haphazardly folded in front of him while he rested his cheek against his bicep and his mouth watered for another mind numbing sip. The infinite possibilities of multiverse were within his grasp but now he simply feels empty. No, he wouldn’t pull his wallet out and look at a faded photograph of his daughter, the spitting image of his wife, and the beauty he’d left behind so willingly. The photograph of Beth, with a wide smile, missing her front teeth– He sighs, closes his eyes, and remembers her little brows furrowing as she tried to eat corn on the cob with the side of her mouth and how quickly she made a mess of her face. 

How long had it been since he’d seen her last? Why had he even indulged in this in the first place? Why have a family when you knew that family was a mistake? It was a burden and an anchor, dragging you down, away from possibility– away from the expanse that should be _his_. He knows why. He’s always known why. 

He lifts his head, belches faintly, brings that flask to his lips, and takes another sip. He knows how long its been. He’d say he wasn’t counting but each day was etched on a calendar in the vastness of his memory. _5,259,487.67 minutes. 87,658.128 hours. 3,652 days. 10 years._ Ten years, and here he is, in a bar in Colombia, trying to ruin his mind and send himself into oblivion. No amount of drugs or alcohol have succeeded in numbing this new level of pain he’s experiencing. 

It’s not just the lives of his wife and daughter that he’s ruined. Recent events have seen to it that Rick has to bear the weight of another future laid to waste by his greed and ambition. Rick justifies this one to himself with the less than comforting thought that ‘ _he would have ended up there anyway_ ’ but it’s not good enough. There were ways to know for sure where things would have gone had Rick not come into his life. Rick could spy on other timelines and see what might have been. 

He looked at many others where he didn’t cross paths with Stan Pines six months ago. He had jumped, one after another, just to satisfy his guilty conscience. He’d glanced once, and seen blood. _Turn back_ , he told himself, _don’t let it get to you. People die. Please. There’s nothing you can do. **People die**_. He leapt from possibility to possibility to satiate his guilty mind but it didn’t work. He still carried the shame. 

Stan had a grin like a kid who’d just gotten his first five dollar bill. It was vaguely greedy, but animated, wide, uninhibited, and excited. He had a jaw that looked like it was cut from stone and hands large enough to make Rick’s own callous fingers feel dainty by comparison. _Hands_. 

He had rough hands. Stan Pines had a grifter’s hands, a worker’s hands, hands that had fought, knuckles knotted from years of fighting and scratching for anything he could get his hungry grip around. Rick flexed his fingers and looked down at his empty palm, thinking briefly about a larger one dwarfing it. He glanced toward the door, watching as people shuffled in, but none of them were the hulking figure of Stan Pines. If Birdperson were here he’d say something incredibly to the point about doing  _‘The right thing’_ and Rick would kick his feet, drag them through the dirt, and find a way. Rick closed his eyes tight, gulped down mouthful after mouthful of cheap liquor, and let the burn make him sick to his stomach. 

“ _You’re gonna get me out!? Right buddy? Rick? Rick! Don’t do this to me– Rick–!!_ ”

The sound of his flask clattering to the ground as he spikes it with all his drunken might echoes through the bar and rouses the attention of other patrons who were merely trying to enjoy their drinks. Rick doesn’t see them. He sees Stan’s wide, dark brown eyes, pleading with him, and the scruff that Rick had enjoyed against his chest early that same morning. Rick doesn’t hear whispers of confusion as he calls them all out.

“What!? Wh-aurp–at– are you looking at!? Huh!? Y-Y-You wanna fight? I’ll take– take on ANY..ANYONE of you–”

Rick doesn’t care when he’s tossed out into the street. He pulls up the collar of his jean jacket and runs his fingers through his graying hair and starts walking. He walks and feels the emptiness at his side without a strong arm around his shoulder or beer breath across his cheek as Stan leans in to talk low in his ear. Broken Spanish and gravelly giggles are things Rick never thought he’d miss if he lost them. He should have known better. 

Losing people hurts every time, even when he’s the one not merely pushing, but enthusiastically _throwing_ them away. 

Rick walks toward his hotel with his chin tucked toward his chest, quietly, and completely alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this/want more stanchez hit me up or leave me a request on tumblr http://theskeewrites.tumblr.com/ask because... I'm taking requests I guess.


End file.
